


A Cacoethes For Doing Stupid Things

by LadybugsFanfics



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Pining, Retired Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, kinda angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22959418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadybugsFanfics/pseuds/LadybugsFanfics
Summary: for @buckysknifecollection's writing challenge on tumblr; prompt:"That's not a real word."You and Steve have a history, and things aren't exactly good. A mission has you reconnect, but that might not be as easy as either of you wish it to be.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Kudos: 26





	A Cacoethes For Doing Stupid Things

“It’s easy.” Sharon stands at the head of the table, blocking the previous shown pictures of the male the team’s supposed to gather information on. “Well, except the getting into the location part.”

Natasha reads through the guest list for the event; a gala on New Year’s Eve in Paris. Her gaze flickers up from the papers to you for the split second of a moment, then they go back down into the paper. And then she does it again, but instead of going back to the paper, they land on Sharon. “I have an idea.” 

“Shoot.” 

“Steve is on the guest list.” She turns the paper around and slides it across the table towards you. “Someone could be his plus one.”

You shake your head. “He’s retired. Why would he agree to be a part of a mission?” 

“He won’t be part of it,” replies Nat, “he’ll just be the gateway inside.”

“For one person. What about the rest of us?” You cock a brow. 

Nat smiles, or rather smirks. “You’re the one going in. And if you do your little tech thing and hitch yourself up to his phone, we’ll get more information than we could ask for.”

You don’t hide the sigh that travels through your body. “Why me?” 

Sharon and Nat share a look you don’t like. And you know their next words before they leave Sharon’s mouth. “You got a little history. The world already knows, plus, the world doesn’t know you’re a SHIELD agent, they know Natasha is.”

“Dammit,” you whisper under your breath. “Have you asked Steve? I’m not doing that part.” 

“Considering we just thought of it, no, but don’t worry. He’ll say yes.” Nat winks your way as she stands and walks out of the room, phone already in hand and pressed to her ear before she’s out the door. 

You let out another sigh, give Sharon your patented displeased look, and follow Nat out of the briefing room. Steve saying yes wasn’t exactly the part of the plan you were worried about. 

* * *

_ “The plan is simple. You go to Paris, act like a couple, get into the gala, find the target, plant the device on his phone, have a good time, act like a couple, mission done.” _

Sharon’s words haunt you during the car ride to the airport. There is just something so annoying about having to spend this much time with the person you thought was the love of your life but then went on and broke your heart instead (and then tried to get it back but you weren’t having it). 

Because of Steve’s retirement, you have to take a commercial flight to Paris. He’d also booked a room for three nights; the night you get there, the night before the gala, and the night of the gala. 

And the best part is that you have to spend all three nights with him there to keep up the appearance and not alert that this is a mission. That’s not the easiest thing when you haven’t talked to someone for well over half a year. 

Bucky helps get your luggage out of the car (a suitcase each), and he gives Steve a hug and a pat on the back before he moves to you. He pulls you in for an embrace and you relax into his touch. “Give him hell,” he whispers. 

You scoff. “Kidnap me instead.” 

“Sorry, no can do.” Bucky pulls out of the hug and you shake your head in disappointment. “Don’t do anything stupid. Either of you.” 

Steve nods and you try for a smile. “We won’t,” says Steve. The two of you watch as Bucky drives away, and then you head inside. 

Neither of you say anything during the check-in, nor anything during the security control. First as you’re waiting by the gate, and the silence settles as awkward because (despite you pulling out a book) neither of you have anything to do or occupy yourself with, does Steve say something. 

“I’m sorry you have to come along like this.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t think about asking Tony for a private jet, but I’m also a tiny bit happy about it because that means less emissions.” You shake your head and try to read the words on the page in front of you. It doesn’t work. They swirl around like a bowl of alphabet soup, but you’re not gonna show that because you really don’t want to talk to Steve unless you have to. 

Thankfully Steve doesn’t push it, and it’s not long before they announce that boarding can start. You both get up, grabbing your carry-ons and walking to the line already made up. It’s now the problem really starts; now you can’t even have a book as an excuse not to talk to him. 

_ Act like a couple _ .

God, Sharon’s voice is a pain in the ass. You’re supposed to make the appearance that you’re a couple, but you can’t even have a normal conversation. You’re also standing with too much space for that to seem true. 

Your heart hammers inside your chest, but you still make the move to grab Steve’s hand and intertwining your fingers. He looks down at you, wide-eyed, but in a moment, he’s trying to suppress a smile. You can see the contours of it on his face, and you wish you could wipe it off. 

You also wish you didn’t enjoy it so much yourself. 

But you get to let go as you get onto the plane, and you don’t make a move to hold it again on the move there and to your seats. You do slightly enjoy how Steve’s shoulder touches yours as you sit, the space not big enough for your comfort zone but perfect for accidental touching. 

(Honestly, Steve, you’re rich. Why didn’t you get first class on a six hour flight? Like, come on!)

“Do you need more space?” he asks, though, as you settle in and practically press yourself to the window. 

You shake your head. “Gonna sleep anyways, so I’m good.” 

“Sleep? Won’t you struggle sleeping tonight? You’ll sleep through the day.” He cocks a brow. 

“Relax, old man. I like sleeping, I don’t get a lot of it, watch me make the best of it. I slept like two hours tonight so sleeping now shouldn’t say anything.” You roll your eyes at him and use the scarf that was around your neck as a blanket. The wall is hard, but better than nothing as a pillow. (If you know yourself right―and you do―you’ll end up using Steve as a pillow anyways. Hopefully, that’s not the better part of the flight.)

* * *

“Hey, sweetheart, we’ve landed.” Steve’s voice is barely audible. He nudges you slightly, and you blink yourself awake. It takes about two seconds to realise you used Steve as a pillow, and you’d thought it’d be his shoulder, but, no, your head is in his lap. 

And that’s all it takes for you to shoot up. That’s all it takes for you to become wide awake. (The sweetheart part did also do something, because that’s what really had your heart beating so fast, but you don’t want to acknowledge that.)

You busy yourself with taking off your seatbelt and grabbing your backpack (the carry-on). In your head, you’re trying to figure out how you could end up in his lap. There’s an armrest between the seats, and you didn’t pull it up, meaning Steve did. 

_ Think about something else, god, please think about something else _ . 

You will yourself to divert your attention over to what you dreamt about instead. But it was short lived and nothing exciting, so you’re quickly lost back to your mind running around about Steve. 

Who’s the one to grab your suitcases off the baggage claim (and help some other girl that struggled with hers―and yes, your gut felt stabbed and your heart ached when she tiptoed to kiss his cheek to thank him for his help). 

However, you’re not really one to say anything about… that, so when he comes back, you keep your mouth shut and take the suitcase he offers you. In your free hand, you go back to intertwining your hand in his.  _ Act like a couple _ . If it didn’t feel like you burned your hand off at Steve’s touch it would be easier, but alas, his touch is scorching. 

And you enjoy it all too much. In fact, you’ve missed it. 

It’s all you can think about when you let go of his hand to get a cab into the city, and it’s all you can think about as the silence settles over the cab ride. You barely listen as Steve checks into the hotel, and you only gain back your consciousness when his hand grazes yours (bringing back the scorching heat) as he gives you your own key to the room. 

You’re brought back to a deep crushing reality you hadn’t expected when you unlock the door to your room and walk inside. 

It’s rather big; a desk by the floor-to-ceiling window, a chair below it and an armchair in the corner with a lamp (nice reading spot). The door to the bathroom opens into a rather big one with both a tub  _ and _ a shower, and there’s a little wardrobe in the entry-way with a safe. 

The thing that has your heart hammering in your chest and the feeling of impending sweat making its way down your back, is the fact that there’s only one bed. It’s big, or more than big enough for two people, but you know that―no matter what kind of wall you build between you two―you’ll end up sleeping pretty close to Steve. You let out a sigh, and when you turn to Steve (who places his suitcase on the suitcase holder) he smiles apologetically at you. 

“I’m sorry, I… Didn’t think about the fact that there’s only one bed.” His hand goes up to scratch his neck. 

You shake your head. “Whatever. I’ll be building a wall, and I guess it would be a little weird with two beds seeing as the hotel workers are supposed to think we’re a couple too.” You’ll just have to make the best of it. 

“Okay then. You hungry? You didn’t eat anything on the plane and it’s already nine.” 

“Yeah, food sounds good.” Even though the last thing you want is to go out and eat; you’ll have to act like a couple, which means touching him. You don’t think you can survive the beating of your heart and the way your skin burns at his touch. 

But you can’t survive without food either. And it’s nice practice for what tomorrow brings. A day in Paris going sightseeing with Steve Rogers, and in public you have to play his girlfriend. 

_ Can this mission be over yet? _

* * *

Sleep comes late. When you and Steve got back from eating, you were tired, yes (despite the long nap on the plane), but you couldn’t bear falling asleep in the same bed as Steve. The excuse to read some (and sit in that cozy chair with the lamp) comes so easy that even Steve doesn’t know how to reply. 

He shrugs and makes his way to the bathroom as you get out a book and sit down in the chair. 

It  _ is _ as cozy as it looked, and you’re quick to kick off your shoes and tuck your legs underneath you. The book, on the other hand, is not that enticing. Instead your gaze goes to the view outside. 

Night lies over Paris, yet there’s a thousand lights in every direction. An orange hue comes off them, and a quiet, romantic feeling sets in you. It aches, knowing that it’s pretend. It aches knowing that you and Steve haven’t really talked. 

Even during dinner, it was rather quiet. Only a few words were exchanged. A few questions about the retired life, about how it is working for SHIELD. Nothing much. Nothing more than a few dozen stolen glances, from you at least. 

The handle of the bathroom rattles as the door opens. To make sure Steve doesn’t say anything about going to bed, you open the book and let your eyes run over the page. You hear him walk around, rummage through his suitcase a little, and then the bed creaks as he settles into it. 

You lift your eyes, stealing another glance at the man. Your heart leaps to your throat seeing that he’s sleeping in only boxers. He’s leaning against the headrest, cover only pulled up to his hips and you have to chide yourself for not looking away. 

If he catches you, you’re not sure whether you’ll live to go through with the mission. After all, the hardest part of it isn’t gathering intel and placing the device on the target’s phone. No, the hardest part is being so close to Steve Rogers and having your heart ache at the sight of him. 

“Are you gonna stay up long?”

At the sound of his voice, you lift your gaze fully to look at him. Your throat feels awfully dry, but you swallow and shake your head. “No, I don’t think so. Just like reading a bit before going to bed.” 

He nods. “Okay. Did you want to build a wall?” His voice is small, so gentle, and the ache in your heart grows bigger. 

“I don’t think we need it. Just keep to your side of the bed, okay?” You try for a small smile, and when he nods and gives one back, you relax slightly. 

The book is no easier to read now than when you were waiting to board the plane. It’s a lot harder, actually, and you don’t think Steve’s fallen asleep when you put it away and make it to the bathroom. You grab a big t-shirt that you usually sleep in and your toiletries on your way, and try to make as little sound as possible. 

Maybe you spend more time there than you need, but you need to psych yourself up. You’re not ready to be this close to Steve, not ready to maybe, possibly, have that talk. But eventually, you get out, turn off the lights and crawl into bed. 

Steve’s body heat comes off him, radiates to your side of the bed. It’s cold at first, but with the cover drawn and the closeness of Steve, it feels like you’re sweating. Your thoughts won’t die down. Your mind won’t rest. Even if your eyes feel heavy and you let them close. 

Sleep comes after what feels like an eternity. Only, sleep brings images you don’t want. Images of blood and fire, of hurt and screams echoing in the distance, of yelling and shouting, of orders not followed, of gunfire. It’s what every night has consisted of lately, what every night brings, and why you rarely sleep. 

As the gunfire comes to its highest, and the screams penetrate your mind, and the red color shades every scene that plays before you, something lulls at the edge of your mind. The images ceases, almost instantly, and a deep slumber finally consumes you. A dreamless sleep that’s the best you’ve had in a long time. 

* * *

Warm. 

That’s how you feel when you wake up. Not scorching, like when you touch Steve. But warm, a deep sense of warmth that seems to lull your mind and that carries with it something safe, something… something you can’t pinpoint. 

Your eyes open slowly. Opens enough to see the light cascading through the blinds. Opens enough to see the slight hint of skin of your own arm, and the hint of skin of someone else’s arm. It’s draped over your torso, and the head of whoever it belongs to is nuzzled into your neck as you can feel the breath fanning your back. The toned chest of the man behind you is easily felt as you stiffen. 

And you know instantly  _ why _ you felt so safe. 

You try to wiggle out of Steve’s grip, but the sleeping man easily tightens it and drags you back into him. He mumbles something, but can’t make it out. You feel torn. Torn between lying there, so close to him that adrenaline rushes through your veins, and leaving, where the world feels much less safe, but your heart won’t threaten to leave your ribcage. 

There’s a million reasons why you shouldn’t indulge, why you shouldn’t let it continue. But there’s also the one reason why you want to lie there forever. 

You lift your left arm slightly, just to check the clock.  _ Ten AM _ . That’s not bad. That means you got about seven hours of sleep. That’s more than three times your usual amount. And the reason behind it is the most annoying one there could ever be. 

“Steve,” you say. Your voice is gentle, trying to wake him slowly and to make sure that when he does, and he notices that you’re spooning, he won’t immediately freak out and retreat. 

But the man doesn’t respond to your voice, only nuzzles further into your hair.  _ God, be strong _ . 

“Steve,” you repeat, voice louder and sterner, but with no more than what you deem necessary to actually wake him. 

“Huh?” you hear, which prompts a sigh of relief. The breath fanning your neck pulls away, and first when you hear a slight grunt does the arm around your torso retreat and the warmth of the man it belongs to leaves your back. 

You turn around to see him, perfect (or as perfect as you can) poker face coloring your face. He doesn’t need to know you enjoyed it, or that you needed it. However, the scared look on his face doesn’t help. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to…” 

You wave it away. “Don’t worry. It’s okay.” Even with the small smile you give him, the small reassurance that it  _ is _ in fact okay (more than okay), Steve presses his lips together and looks so very apologetic. 

“Let’s just get up. Get some breakfast and start sightseeing?” 

That helps with the look on Steve’s face. He relaxes, but there’s still some lingering of sadness in his eyes and remorse coloring his features. He nods, shoots you another small apologetic look, and gets out of the bed. Immediately, he disappears into the bathroom. 

The day goes by faster than you expected. You see the Eiffel tower (annoy yourself by thinking how it’s supposed to be romantic―and you’re supposed to act like a couple―and how that’s not happening), you visit the Louvre, and you take a walk past the Notre Dame Cathedral, and (after a lot of begging from your side―and pulling some strings) you visit the catacombs. 

Because you keep having something to do, your mind doesn’t go to the place it has been the last twenty-four hours. You have to act like a couple (something that is currently not happening due to Steve’s guilt from this morning), and the thought was agonizing when Sharon first told you, but then you did it a little and the more you did the more you enjoyed it and the more it just became an excuse. 

Only, that excuse doesn’t help so much when Steve won’t even look at you without the look of a kicked puppy, only said puppy knows he was in the wrong. It’s excruciating. And all you want is to just thread your fingers through his and feel your mind slither away underneath his touch. 

Can’t always have what you want. 

* * *

“The plan is easy. We go in, we find the target, I chit-chat with him, some flirting, fish his phone from his pocket in a pretend fall and place the chip in it. Easy.” You recount the plan to Steve for the  _ n _ th time. He’s annoyed, because you’re not letting go of the part about him not doing  _ anything _ . 

He’s about to open his mouth again, but you shush him before he can. “No! You retired Steve, you withdrew from it. Tonight, you’re a tool that is going to act madly in love with me and not do anything else. You are, of course, welcome to save me from a bullet and die yourself.” A slight part of you wants to laugh. Even as you try to joke about it, you do want him to  _ be _ madly in love with you. And, despite the bittersweet feelings about him (and the play of hate), you don’t actually want him to die. You don’t even want him to be hurt. 

But Steve just nods.  _ That _ he’s okay with. The fact that he’s not supposed to help because, technically, he’s a civilian,  _ that _ he doesn’t grasp. 

Doesn’t matter anyways because the car pulls up to the place of the event. You sigh before letting Steve help you out, linking your hand with his arm before you walk up the red carpet that lines the entrance. (Gosh, this is even fancier than you expected). 

At the door, a man dressed in a black tux eyes the two of you. “Name?” he says, and just by how he says it, you feel like you don’t belong. This is way too fancy for your taste.

“Rogers,” replies Steve, completely unfazed by the male’s posh…  _ everything _ . “Steve Rogers.”

The man scans a list and then looks up at Steve with a fake smile. “Good evening, mister Rogers. The hosts are expecting you. Please walk down the hall and the first to the left to relieve your coats.”

Shortly after the two of you find your table, which (if by purpose or by accident, you don’t know) turns out to be shared with your target. A flirty smile and introduction goes a long way to make the man look happy about the seating. It also goes a long way to make Steve actually show his true feelings, as after you sit, he pulls your chair a little closer to his own. 

You can’t say you mind.

* * *

The mission itself goes well. Since you didn’t have that much to do, it only took some light flirting to attach a chip to your targets phone and keep on with your night. Unfortunately, that’s not too easy when Steve insists on following said target as he suspiciously sneaks his way through the crowd and towards rooms clearly marked off limits. 

“Steve, why are we doing this?” 

Steve’s dragging you along with him, quickly checking side to side before going through the same door as your target and yanking your arm so that you follow. “Because that little tech thing you did is probably not enough.”

You roll your eyes. “God, you got a real cacoethes for running straight into danger, huh?”

“A what now?” Steve stops, squinting at you with confusion written all over his face. 

“Cacoethes.”

“ **That’s not a real word.** ” 

You scoff. “‘Course it is. Means to have an uncontrollable urge or desire for doing  inadvisable things, like smoking or drinking too much or running head first into danger  _ as a civilian _ .” At the last part you poke him in the chest and mutter through clenched teeth. 

Steve bites his lips and rubs his neck. “Oh,” he lets out. “I still don’t know if it’s a real word, but sure. But we should―”

Before he can finish, you hear footsteps coming down the hallway. You look for a spot to hide, and not finding one, your mind thinks quick of a cover up should you actually be caught. 

As you press your lips to Steve’s, you can’t help but think that maybe you have a cacoethes yourself. Because the press of his lips against yours has your heart ache and beat at the same time. It’s soft, yet it’s rough. It’s passionate yet hasty. 

And it’s so full of desire, it makes your knees go weak. 

A cough to your side makes the two of you pull away from each other, faces flushed and a kind of embarrassing smile on your face. 

“Excuse me, but the two of you are not allowed back here.” It’s a security guard, but he doesn’t look as mad as you thought he would be. 

Rubbing your neck and smiling sheepishly, you let out an awkward laugh. “So sorry, sir. We… uh, we just… were looking for somewhere, you know, private.” You lean a little into Steve’s chest at that to give some more to the role. 

“Just leave the party, then, miss. I’m sure no one would miss you.” The security guard winks. “I’ll show you a quick way out back if you don’t want to be spotted.”

You press your lips together and intertwine your hand with Steve’s. “That would be great, thank you.”

And when Steve doesn’t complain or mention anything about having something to do, you both follow him out.

That night, neither of you think anything about sleeping in the same bed, or sleeping close together. Or about the fact that you’re both naked. 

Maybe things are looking good after all. 


End file.
